Yangtze River Valley Tradition

Reed Sandals, July 2009.

Shot outside an old house in the Yangtze River Valley in CheXi, Hubei Province, China.

suggestions for a lively October 25 (thinking ahead):

Find a chocolate festival. Preferably in Europe (you know, if you're there). Walk around. See the sights. Maybe sample some chocolate.

Perugia, Italy. Chocolate Festival. October, 2008.

One of the charming things about Italy is that each little town has a unique personality. Everyday practices, from what sort of food people eat to more seasonal customs, such as when festivals blow through town or the details of religious processions, find their roots deep in history. Witnessing these in a smaller community opens a different country than many visitors encounter when experience "Rome," (though this, undeniably, is Italy too).

Haitian girl learning to walk

Haitian girl. Ile-a-Vache, Haiti, 2007

Reality in one of the poorest corners of Haiti: if you are born with a physical disability your parents likely won't be able to care for you. Abandoned by her parents, this little girl is in the loving care of a nun (Sr. Flora) who runs an orphanage for the severely disabled. One day she may be able to walk on her own.

My reasoning to post this photograph now was quite purposeful. One of the most frequent Google searches that drives people to my blog is evidently, "Haitian girls." I don't know the motivation behind these searches but I lived long enough in Haiti not to ask. Still, one can hope, the searches are well intentioned.

Francesa, sea breeze child

Bald Head Island, North Carolina, 2007

It's been pouring and unseasonably cold in DC for the last few days. This photograph is like a breath of fresh, warm air. I need one! So I thought I'd share it with you too.

website update & fix

I noticed a lot of traffic to my blog was coming through my website (relatively speaking) so I finished some of the updates I have been meaning to make to it. However, I realized after posting the changes that some of the links on the "menu" need to be fixed and that there are some compatibility issues with Windows operating systems. I am working on these! Sorry for the trouble...

And, by the way, if you have feed back on anything, do not hesitate to contact me.

Andalucía to lose your heart

Door.* Barrio Albycín, Granada, Spain, 2009

In 2004, with minimal knowledge of Spanish, a carry-on bag and a small digital camera, I moved to Granada, Spain... and fell in love. Passion, mystery, effervescence, and sensuality intoxicated me, drew me in. I departed in tears a couple of months later with a copy of Cervantes short stories open in my lap (perhaps reading "La Gitana;" my Spanish had come a long way), determined to dedicate entire courses to learning about (Islamic) Spain during my last year of college.

In retrospect, I attribute part of my ability to engross myself in life in Granada, Summer 2004 to leaving technology and related trappings behind. As any shutter-bug will tell you, photographing life often means not taking part in it; and (painfully) I'd left my SLR behind that summer. Additionally, living alone with out a computer, Internet, television means you get out there. Meet people. It changes the rules of the game (back to the way they were). That one summer, I pretended - I lived - as though I were a "granadina." And - gasp - I learned Spanish really quickly.

Did I mention, too, that I fell in love with the place? That I learned every little pretty nook and best deal tapas place? That I had my favorite bars, cafes, churches, walks... and some good friends too. And I was there for about 8 weeks.

Sometimes your memory plays tricks. But to my delight, when I returned in 2009, even in the drearier winter months, my memories of beloved Andalucía proved true. On this most recent visit, I brought my camera. So finally I can share more about one of my favorite places.

*The door pictured is very typical of the Arab neighborhood that sits on a hill faces the famous Alhambra: the Barrio Albycín. The barrio itself is as magnificent in many ways as the old Moorish castle: beautiful to explore by day, mysterious to walk by night (with a friend). It's filled with wonderful charms around every corner, like this door: Doesn't it make you wonder what's inside? The metal workmanship - intricate and very typical of the southern Spanish region - at once seems to welcome the onlooker and yet firmly prohibits you from coming farther. It is just one of many subtle tributes to the coalescing Islamic and Christian cultures of southern Spain. Note, too, the green trim around the door as it contrasts with the bright Andalusian reds of the brick.

Tourism in China: Wish you were here!

Huangguoshu Waterfall, Guizhou Provice, China

At first, this photograph is about two things: aesthetics and a darn good back story. The massive waterfall (largest in Asia) in the background contrasts dramatically with the antics happening in the foreground. This combined with the vibrant colors really draw the observer into the scene (click the photo to see a larger version). Too, at a cursory glance, these folks seem like part of a show. But upon closer inspection (check out the man's pressed trousers and glasses), it's clear they are probably someone's grandparents - tourists! - horsing around in rent-able traditional garb.

Most importantly, (and this is why it's one of my favorites photographs) this photograph reveals some interesting characteristics about China that in the face of tire-tariffs and a weak dollar (well, even before that, let's face it) we neglect. It hints at a natural grandeur and beauty impossible to to imagine. At the same time, it expresses something intimate: a silly element to an older couple's sense of humor. I would venture to say I experienced this sort of refreshing joviality in my interactions with people throughout the country - this willingness to act goofy or make jokes at the expense of one's self for a laugh.

Importantly, the photo also gives a peep the thriving internal market for tourism, which includes path-side vendors who rent period costumes in which tourists can be photographed. (In addition to Ming-style grannies, I saw silk-robed teens and all manner of anachronistic ridiculousness... all over the place). However, in July on a Friday, hundreds of Chinese visited this waterfall; I didn't see any Westerners. China, despite its welcome capitalist market and vast offerings in the trade world (sure, it'll take our $ for investment and manufacturing) has yet to really profit from basic tourism. Yes, despite the Beijing Olympics.

The proof is in the pudding (no, not in a statistic put out by the People's Republic): try to find a postcard in Shanghai. I dare you. (And this with the World Expo 2010 coming up). All I'm saying is that someone's missing out...

**To read about my visit to Guizhou, see Wild Wild West of China. To check out links for tourism in Guizhou, go to China Tourist Maps and click GuiZhou. To be wowed by China's nature offering, check out BBC's documentary "Wild China" (awesome) at Amazon.

Divine Tuscan Hilltop Family Chaos

“You…” she points at her watch “pasta…” she points at the boiling pot of water containing the pasta “seis.” She smiles gently at me. “Ok?” “Ok,” I respond. Holding up six fingers, “Ho capito.” I understand. And I mark the time on my watch, determined to get this right. Then the marchesa bursts through the kitchen door, with her arms in the air, saying in Italian and Hungarian “Oh, carina… il cafe. My coffee.”

She places herself at the unfinished kitchen island and pops a slender cigarette in her mouth. The cloth-covered stuffed tomatoes offer a brief distraction before she lights her cigarette and tastes from her demitasse. She heaves a sigh, welcoming the respite from two hours of cooking in the now sweltering but deliciously aromatic kitchen.

Then the piccolo principe - only two, blond, with round eyes of blue - wakes up. His mother comes in to fetch him. And the marchese, his Nono, follows suit. The family hovers about this child, and not without cause, for he charms the way he says “O, Dio,” and “O, Mama,” corks wine bottles, makes up little songs, and laughs easily and often. Nono and Nona both tend to his afternoon snack, and the soft-spoken Hungarian cousin to a meat dish. The whole scene distracts me completely and I forget the time for the pasta.

Suddenly, bubbling from the stove reminds the marchesa and she cries, “The pasta!” Her cousin turns, looks at me guiltily. I say “culpa mia, culpa mia,” immediately, which is really quite a shame since the marchesa had just been singing my praises about what a help I was. Oops. I smile shyly and look at the cousin. She looks back at me, smiles and shrugs. The marchesa grumbles and resumes other kitchen activities, ignoring the pasta fiasco. Her cousin begins to dress the slightly soggy noodles with a poppy-seed paste, lemon zest and sugar. “Ok,” she whispers, smiling. “Ok.” And hands me a bow-tie for tasting. Ok, indeed. Just fine.

Soon, the wind of chaos blows in again. A servant goes to bring coffee to someone. “Vai!” “Dove?” “Come?” “Con questo! Dai” “Grazie.” “Ok!” Then someone gets a new idea. Moving something... “Can’t be done that way!” “Come?” Workmen shuffle around. “Cose?” “Perque!” And then dust settles again.

Chatting resumes over what little remains to be done in the kitchen. At this point I just sit. But nothing will budge me from my spot. Perhaps they will tell me to move more tomatoes or salt something. The marchesa tells me I do not have to help in the kitchen, if there is something else I would like to do. But I say I like to. What else will I do? What I have been doing the last two weeks: reading, writing, yoga, etc.? Anyway, it makes me feel useful. And less far from my own family. “Ah,” she replies. “Yes, that’s good. But also your family must be less chaotic.”

“Oh, noooo.” I smile. And explain my part Irish, part Italian, all Catholic family, with four of us growing up, fifteen cousins and dozens of second and third cousins. Divine chaos, divine, divine chaos defines our family get-togethers. Perhaps that is the energy of good families. Chaos and love.

These are the afternoon activities of a family at a (not-quite-finished) hilltop, Tuscan villa. And here I am, a part of it all. Why am I here? The paterfamilias has enlisted me to help improve his English. This we do when he can be spared from playing with his child, talking to his wife (the most beautiful 8-month pregnant woman I have ever seen), supervising construction , rounding up friends for a jetski outing or dinner party, watering his grass, hunting, or blackberrying or… well, eating. The latter takes a great deal of time; life revolves around it, understandably, as this is bella Italia.

This afternoon for lunch, we all sat “inside” to eat. The villa, built Roman style but to gigantic scale, has two cavernous rooms with yet unfinished fireplaces and still open, stable-like doors. The breeze blows in, but the wasps – a major problem just now – do not. So there we dined on meat and tomatoes, cucumber, and fried potatoes. To finish we had fresh peaches and grapes and some leftover tart. A little coffee, too.

When the piccolo principe went for a nap, quite a tiring afternoon playing in the baby pool, chasing cats and dogs, running from wasps, rolling about with Nono and Nona, the mater and paterfamilias and the Noni relaxed for a few moments on the couches at the gigantic room’s entrance, from where one can see a nearly complete panorama of the Tuscan hills. The gentle cousin made her way to her room in search of lighter clothing for a little sun bathing.

Only a few breaths went by, and familiar chaos began again. “Where is the mattress of the guest?” “The cupboard is in the wrong place.” “I have to watch him fix the closets, O, Dio!” “Senti, amore, what are we going to eat tonight?” And within a blink I found myself seated alone with the marchese, as he finished his pipe (he had not yet been called away, though his time came within moments), chatting about language.

I like this Calabria born man, with his bright blue eyes and his great patience. Last night, some fireworks surprised us all after dinner. We watched, from above, in silence. During the grand finale, the marchese remarked, “Ah, the grand finale. Il strazia bracchi.” “The what?” I asked, wanting to know the word in Italian. He smiled, a little embarrassed, “it’s the Neapolitan for ‘grand finale.’ ‘Strazia bracchi.’ It means… ‘strazia,’ break. ‘bracchi,’ the underwear.” He laughed. “It’s slang. From Naples.”

Into..... Civilization and the City of Lights

In just 8 or 9 relatively short hours by plane, I went from the capital of China to the capital of France. The world's fastest train carried me a whizzing 431km/h to the Shanghai airport from whence a plane zipped me to Beijing. From there, and without further adieu, another plane dropped me ahead of schedule at (the loathed) CDG airport in Paris.

Once in Paris, well, I queued for a half hour to buy a ticket of equal cost to the super-fast Maglev train for the RER train that took five times as long and was filled with gypsies and graffiti. Ah, back to civilization.

Of course, I had to transfer trains too. And with my two carry-ons and my 50-lbs rolling bag, that was no small task. As always and even with explicit directions, the RER system confounded me, as I went down the wrong platform and up again to find the right one, only to discover I couldn't go down again without going up yet again. A pleasant looking security man with a mean looking German Shepard took pity on me, or perhaps it was that my tear-swollen eyes and and the sweat rolling down my temples, and told me to follow him when I asked, in a trembling voice, (gimme a break, it was already past midnight, China time), how the (HELL) I to get down to the other platform.

I have to imagine we made a mad scene, me in my hat and my three bags and him with his vicious K-9 in its studded, black leather muzzle. He chatted away in Parisian slang and I "oui-ed" along until we landed where I needed to be. One stop and many sketchy looking folk later and I found myself on Haussman Blvd at an overpriced cafe, having wine with a French screenplay writer I'd met several months before.

Paris may have lovely weather in the summertime but it sure brings out the freaks. This was all new to me... I am a Paris-by-summer-virgin (or was). As I waited for my brother, sipping a cafe and pouring over J D Salinger's short stories, I ignored the street insanity before me like a professional (as it doesn't differ much from the usual Bologna scene, to which a year of living had me quite accustomed).

When finally my brother arrived (late plane from Italy where things run less efficiently than they do in China), we had a glass of wine and a midnight, sidewalk dinner of Steak Frites and Salade Poulet. Have you ever noticed that the French like to sit like sardines, all lined up along the sidewalk, so as to best people-watch? It quite differs from the manner in which the Chinese sit grouped around the largest tables they can find (2-3 people to a 5-10 top table) in wide spaces like courtyards or parks.

The next day my littlest broski - as he likes to refer to himself in emails to me - and I did a speed version of our favorite sort of Paris visit together. Food, shopping, sightseeing, coffee, sightseeing, wine, shopping, sightseeing, food, wine, food. Oh, and chatting chatting chatting. As he was oriented in the 8th, we made our way toward the 5th and 6th to begin our day. At one point, during haircuts, I described my desire to learn to pincurl my hair and my brother pointed out that he always learns pointless girl trivia while hanging out with me. I pointed out that that was, in fact, what sisters were for. And, likewise, that he served perfectly for feeding me rich philosophical and historical trivia, thank you very much, and making me sound much more intelligent than I might otherwise. (Turns out his trivia came in very handy later during some dinner parties in Tuscany, making me sound very educated indeed).

Later in the day, I learned that Napoleon had his own entrance at the opera, big enough for him to ride in astride a horse.

In the evening, we lost ourselves in the lovely shops of the 6th and a cozy little wine shop that must have had a very different atmosphere when, centuries (years) ago, artists and philosophers sat about and sucked at their Gauloise, creating a foggy, aromatic haze in the rafters. When we finally wandered back to the apartment little broski called home temporarily, hunger had turn us both into evil versions of ourselves so that any dinner planning became impossible until we remembered the cheese and champagne we'd procured to assuage our low-blood sugar afflictions.

Somehow, later, we found ourselves seated in a fancy little place in the 5th, decor recalled the 1920s - or maybe a little earlier - with mirrors and metal molding everywhere. We feasted on snails, pate, suckling pig and roast duck. For desert we shared a creme brulee. The waiter fancied my brother a bit (lovely eyes, he told him) so after we polishing off our drinks and paying we ducked out before anyone got any ideas... The rain dampened our plans to find dancing or ride the big ferris wheel and watch the lights.

In the morning brunch was delicious but became quickly painful as the waiter took a seemingly pointless lunch break in the middle of serving our table and couldn't be budged to get our check. Clock ticking... plane to catch. When finally a taxi dropped me at Orly, I joined the already impossibly long line for my discount flight to Italy. Merci beacoup, French attitudes about serving tables. But the flight was delayed any how. So I guess I can thank French attitudes about timeliness for it not mattering in the end anyhow.

I made it to Italy, late. And it was hot when I got there. And, I should point out, it was August 1: The beginning of holidays in Europe. So let me lend some advice: if you do not speak Italian, this is not the day to land in Italy. As I rushed to make a late bus and make the last regional train going to a tiny town north of Rome, I never would have known what to do if I hadn't been able to ask quickly in Italian and understand the response. Everything was crowded and running late. Back in the developed world!

I arrived in fine form, sweating and stressed, for my first day on the job as an English teacher in the rolling coastal hills of southern Tuscany.

China in Sum, if I may

One of China's most remarkable qualities is its ability to produce endless contradictions. It contains some of the poorest regions of the world and has been home to some of its greatest disasters (the Sichuan Earthquake 2008) and conflicts (Tibet, the recent terrorist attacks in the western provinces, decades past massacres and genocides). It also houses a great part of the world's factories now and has proven enormous economic success in the last couple decades. It possesses great expanses of mountains and deserts, cold and hot, camels and pandas, giant cities and humble rice villages. There exist delicate and ancient secrets buried deep in gorges, beneath tropical foliage and craggy rocks. The most sophisticated of technologies carry passengers on the world's fastest train from one of the world's largest cities to an enormous international airport at 431 km/h while the same city's streets teem with bikes and rickshaws.

The Chinese government is one of the most closed and secretive in the world. But the people and the culture are open and warm. There exists a dual inclination to obey, to a degree, the regulations set out by the government and also to evade them. The system may be socialist but yet the machine at work supports one of the strongest capitalist systems in the world.

As I sit and try to compose thoughts about my days in China, I find the task I rather overwhelming one. The hospitality shown me by my friends and those I encountered in different cities around China touched me deeply. One friend drove with me, though I had a driver to take me, all two and half hours to the airport in Wuhan, stayed for lunch, and saw me off through security, waving all the way. He showed me the honor one would to a dear friend - only having known me ten short days. Another friend insisted upon shipping all my purchases back to my apartment for me by DHL so I wouldn't have to carry them with me through the rest of my travels. Yet another took me to dine an Italian restaurant, thinking I might miss the food I loved so much.

No longer in China, I find myself constantly confronting those misconceptions about the Chinese I myself once also held: They are truly a diverse, interested and interesting people and, in my opinion, some of the most generous.

I also met Americans and Europeans on my travels. People who, like me, had found their way to China in search of something - be it a job, money, love, adventure, themselves, the next step, mystery... Some of these people were profoundly interesting. Some, not so much. I chatted with people working in hotel design (a hot business), marketing, environment, oil drilling, English teaching, economic development, finance, banking, and TV. Sometimes I met people who came just to visit (few yet).

No doubt, the economic crisis can be felt in China too. People talk about it - as they do everywhere - but here, unlike in the US, the government has taken the unlikely opportunity to use money usually invested abroad for heretofore neglected domestic projects. For a country with a 50-60% savings rate, too high, really, for a developing country and high even compared to developed countries, this comes as a disguised blessing. New construction is everywhere - and this time not on factories and high-rises - but on roads, bridges and other necessary infrastructure. Could the financial collapse of 2008 bring a better quality of life to the common Chinese person? It's possible...

At this point, while sitting on a cushion in southern Tuscany, I want to conclude with some thoughts (in accord, I think, with the opinions of one James Fallows, who I have mentioned before and whose book, "Postcards from Tomorrow Square," I recently finished and immensely enjoyed): It is evident from spending but 4 weeks in the Republic of China that a strong economic and political future for the US will necessitate a strong relationship on every level with China. This includes more visas for students and teachers, better attempts at understanding the motive of our neighbors across the Pacific and more openness and willingness to shift our own policies toward them. China is strong but it is not "there yet." Links may be made that will become strong bonds. China and America have more in common than not what is not might be yet change. For now, the Chinese seem to have a deep curiosity and, for now, respect for the US. That is something we should not disregard lightly.

Shang Hai on Life

A visitor spending time alone in big cities like New York, Paris, Berlin, and Shanghai might compare a bit to a kid standing just outside the display window of a great toy store - like NYC's FAO Schwartz - or wandering around the aisles, but without permission to play with any toys.

The city sparkles and entices and a while a lonely, short term visitor can participate in sightseeing, shopping, eating or pampering activities, she cannot expect to truly engage in what makes the city sparkle, glitter and "go." Nonetheless, with the right sort of attitude, one might derive a great deal of pleasure from simply gazing from the outside, so to speak, and taking in the delicious sights and sounds and tastes of the Shanghai toy store.

So, Friday night I dined Italian style with some Chinese friends at a restaurant run by a Shanghainese woman who lived 30 years in Milan and spoke lovely, lilting Italian and whose food, really, was as good as one can expect for Italian food halfway across the world. Afterward we went to see Harry Potter. This time, my movie viewing experience was in English, since unlike Transformers 2, I'd been anticipating this flick for about a year or so.

The stunning and (excuse me for judging, I love the Harry Potter movies) annoying cultural revelation I made that night that everyone seems to whip out the mobile devices more at movies than any time else - more so than while driving, on the subway, walking, standing on the street corner looking bored. Oooo... glowing lights..... There is just something, I suppose, about a dark movie theater, particularly one in which occurs the fantastically exhilarating climax that determines the fate of one Mr. Potter. Between the rattling of candy bags and flicking iridescent lights across the dark room... well, you get the point.

The next day I thought I'd brave the Bund alone. If you've been following, you'll known that I dined there my first weekend in Shanghai, and so it seemed an appropriate place to close my China chapters. After weeks of planned (though delightful) outings with my Chinese friends, the silent hours of aimless wandering was pleasant change.

By day the Bund reminded me of 5th Ave. NYC with a river-side Central Park directly across the street (though it's completely under construction in preparation for the 2010 World Expo). As I walked along the wide sidewalk, passing Armani, Dolce Gabbana, Gold Exchanges, Development Banks, shouting rickshaw drivers, laughing tourists (mostly Chinese, though the odd Westerner too), buses, and vendors, the wind blew and the sky shined a brilliant blue and I recalled the city's birth in the Opium Trade and comeback when the Shanghai Stock exchange reopened and international traders and businesses moved back in the last few decades.

Doubt ye not Shanghai's glory.

The shopping in this quarter too rich for my wallet, I simply made my way all the way down the promenade for a better view of the Oriental Pearl on lovely bridge. There I joined the cluster of tourists to take photos on the unlikely clear Shanghainese summer day.

In the evening I made my way to the French Concession for a two hour acro-yoga, ashtanga session during which I had my proverbial butt kicked by a tattooed, pony-tailed, American expat yogi. Afterward, some ladies from the class recommended a nice mani/pedi salon that in turn recommended a nice massage parlor where I enjoyed a deep tissue massage while my nails dried. Within a few hours my body had forgotten all about the twisted handstands I'd attempted.

The French Concession has been historically and still is where most ex-patriots prefer to live in Shanghai. It is asthetically the most pleasing area of the city, lower buildings, festooned with parks, and has the longest stretch of Art Deco buildings in the world. The latter comes as a bit of a shock, considering it is also the area where the Communist Government of China made its first gain in the '20s, hence the name of the neighborhood (which doesn't exist in Chinese), the "Concession." Truly, the neighborhood defies square block construction and faded, unimaginative architectual design the country's image projects.

Reflective of a great, growing, bold international city with vast professional opportunities, the ex-pat scene in China is young, bright, beautiful, and intense. Forget NYC, Paris, or San Fran. If you want to go somewhere to live life and make money, go to Shanghai where there's money to be made in just about every field, the night life is hopping, the people are pretty, and seem - from what I could tell - rather whip smart, too. Clubs are clubs, but as clubs go - the ones I saw had fantastic live bands, free champange for the females on ladies' night, a cleanc crowd, open spaces, great DJ's, weird add-ons like outdoor pools and seemily effective bouncers (but then, Shanghai's a pretty safe city too). Like all ex-pat scenes, one notices the darker underbelly of life abroad - local girls skanking out to expat guys, a touch of hedonism amongst the expats, and other behavior that goes along with these themes.

When out and about, one cannot help but learn a great deal about the Shanghainese life and culture - or at least a corner of it. And I think I did. But far be it for this lowly wanderer to claim intimate knowledge of a city quadruple the size of New York City with less than two weeks under her belt. Nonetheless, I can testify that the subway system is one of the best in world - if not the best, some Shanghainese do, in fact, wear their PJs on the streets, that there's a major fad in Shanghai - and throughout China - surrounding SMSing, mobile games and anything else on a little LCD lit screen. Ah, the Wonders of communication technology. I can also tell you that the city's booming and, economic slump and population problems aside, the 10s of millions of people-large city seems on the up and up in a big way.

If you have time, check out the 2010 Shanghai Expo... "Better City, Better Life" (one day). When out in this big city for a short period, there's no fun to be had if you just go out and have it. But after a couple weeks there, one does have the impression that to get into the gears of the city, much more time is needed.

Shanghai Daze Dog Night

As celestial events go, a full solar eclipse ranks as one of the most miraculous, most awesome and maybe - at times in history and in some places on the planet still - most fearsome. This July, from along a thin strip of southeast Asia and the Pacific Rim islands, appeared the longest solar eclipse of nearly the next half millennium. One of the best places from which to view this event was Shanghai -- geographically, though not necessarily meteorically speaking.

It rains in Shanghai in the summer. It rains. Buckets.

When I woke in the morning around 6am, the sun was visible in the sky but dark ominous cloud loomed behind it. Rather than curse my stupidity for leaving Jingzhou, where the weather was clear and lovely but a day early, I decided to pray. By my figuring, God's almighty and thus shouldn't offhandedly dismiss a prayer to see such a great event as a full, 10-minute solar eclipse. A once in a life time thing.. right? So, I didn't even ask Him for the full deal. "Just a gilpse, please. That's all I ask." Thinking my humility might be rewarded with, maybe, some magnanimity...

The Hua Ting Towers had become a home, if I had any place to call "home" in China, as I spent more nights there than any other place (about two weeks in all). I headed for the now familiar 5-star breakfast buffet and entered the massive dining room (to my mind, mini replica UN cafeteria) filled with squeaking tourists and businessmen from all corners of the planet, sucking noodles, slurping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and guffawing loudly. I swear the hostesses conspired against me daily, because I inevitably found myself cornered by several Japanese and some Chinese, all with (traditional breakfasts) large bowls of noodles before them; wet noodles that need to be hoisted heavily with chopsticks into the mouth and then vacuumed in the rest of the way, broth to follow later with much lapping noises.

Oh, give me a quite cafe corner or breakfast nook with a coffee and a pastry or one egg over easy on toast. I cannot bear breakfast-included buffets... especially ones with wet noodles.

In any case, after a breakfast of whatever I decided I could hold down that day (yogurt? Juice and a piece of fruit or cereal? The places that cater to Westerners, God bless them), my friend Grace and I went out, into the encroaching gloom, toward the stadium park across the street to find a place to view the eclipse.

In the week or so leading up to the great solar event, the Chinese government (news) had really broadcast information to the people, from what I could tell. Not understanding (really) or reading the People's Language (Mandarin), I rely on my ability to interpret pictures. From the photos of solar eclipses I saw on front pages it seemed to me, well... the word was out. My friends started counseling: "Be sure to watch the eastern horizon around 8:45am!! The darkest minutes will be at 9:40!"

In Shanghai, people sported the latest fashion, a short lived style: solar eclipse viewing glasses. Thick, heavy, square-shaped, grandpa lenses. Seeing these perched on peoples heads (not to mention the pair gripped in my own sweaty palm) only made the pain of those darkening clouds more acute. The weather worsened as the hour approached.

As Grace and I neared the park where still hopeful crowds amassed, the Man upstairs answered my prayers and gave me what I would later cherish as my one and only glimpse of the solar eclipse: The clouds parted to reveal the first quarter of the Earth's shadow as it began its half hour long march to cloak the Sun. Just a sliver of a shadow but enough for distinction. A glorious sight. Then clouds rolled back over. And, eventually, dark gray, sheet-like rain consumed the scene.

Around the park the punky looking, smoking Shanghainese, downtrodden, damp-looking families, half interested loudmouthed Aussies, frazzled local photographers, one lanky, croissant-munching and very focused photo-snapping blond guy and various other Shanghainese moved under a building overhang. But no one left the park. Everyone meant to witness this event.

Gray light turned to dark yellow. Yellow turned to dark gray. Then we simply slipped into night. The temperature dropped maybe 5-10 degrees Celsius. And at the peak of the eclipse, we stayed in dark, cold rain for ten minutes, motorcycle alarms going off as people shuffled around, unnaturally loud laughter, camera flashes blinking everywhere, loud, excited conversations replaced subdued disappointed tones, security guards closing around crowds, and streets and building lights blinking on everywhere.

For ten minutes one July morning in Shanghai, it was night.

And then the reverse process began. Black faded to darkness and then yellow and then gray and we began slipping into a rainy, dull morning again.

Later I talked to my friends in Jingzhou and they told me they could see the stars at the full eclipse. One said he could die tomorrow he felt so overwhelmed by the beauty. I haven't looked at the photos they sent yet... But I am I grateful for my glimpse of the mid morning night.

(photo courtsey Frank Zhou)

Wild Wild West China

A land of opportunity, where the sky is blue, the air is cool, the land is vast and green but the topography strange, where the people rush and shove and hurry from place to place. A land void of Westerners where a women leads a lonely camel by his nose down a road -- inexplicably. These were my first impressions of Guiyang City in Guizhou Province in far, southwestern China.

At this point, you may be wondering (or not, at this point, if you have been following my blog at all) what on earth would drive me to these hinterlands (look up Guiyang, Guizhou on Google Maps). Well, I'll end the suspense: the trading part of the company I'm here with brought me along to learn about purchasing contracts and to see how a ceramic sands manufacturing plant operates. Moments after landing, the manager of the ceramic sands plant we were to visit whisked my travel partner, "J," and I away to the factory to talk shop, broker a deal and walk around the the plant.

One can often judge from the airport, I have noticed (and have also had these observations confirmed by others), how many Westerners one will run into in a place here. There were more Pandas wandering around than Westerners, which is to say, none. And, giving me little hope for other Western comforts, a trip to the restroom confirmed it: all holes in the ground. I girded my belt (so to speak).

We left the airport in a Fiat with the plant manager and headed as straight as one might hope to the factory. Construction everywhere. The trip took us over hill, under dale, overpass, underpass, around lines of enormous life-sized Tonka Trunks and through the city outskirts and countryside. When we arrived at the factory, we went to the office to "discuss things." I had the privilege of listen in... to the Chinese. Which I don't speak.

Ideas ran through my mind, as I sat spinning the green flowers in my hot water (tea): I could look very attentive, "listen" along and throw in a few "haw. haw. twa twa twas" for good measure ("uh huh uh huh, ya ya ya" in Mandarin). I could also succumb to sleep for a few short minutes, but might this be rude? Or mightn't it, given that I understand nothing... I could also stare incessantly at one point on one mans face to see if he'd react but this would probably be counter productive to the business deal and thus lessen my standing as a mature intern from a prestigious masters program. So, I looked interested, drank my tea, sat demurely and waited until the next step...

At last, show and tell! A tour of the factor and... more hard hats! This time, I didn't have the nerve to ask for photo-ing of hard hat experience. But I was dying to. In any case, we walked around the factory and "J" explained things to me as we went along.

With deep respect in my heart, I tell you that this factory looked in no way like it could produce a world class product and yet, it does. The light of day visible through the ceiling, ware and tear visible on every machine and tool, soot gathered in corners, beams sagging with age, one would never guess that to open a shipment bag, one would find perfect and durable ceramic sand ready for fracturing in oil fields and able to withstand enormous pressure underground. How do they do it? Perfect and meticulous systems operations, application of the Model T factory methods and conscientious planning.

Later we drove into the city. Guiyang is poor meets high tech in a fascinating way. With billboards advertising the latest in communication: Netbooks with 3G! men trundle down the street with their mules, and the sidewalks team with street vendors who look a few shaves down the poverty scale than what I saw in Jingzhou - bonier arms, cheaper wares, scratchier and louder voices.

Guiyang the city contrasts sharply with its calm, peaceful weather. It is load and garish with blinking lights and pushy people, honking horns and incessant traffic. The city is built in the mountains, funny mountains that look like large green ant hills sprouting up here and there, which perhaps accounts for part of the city's insanity, as buildings seem sort of stacked one on the other with no room to spread out - as there is in Shanghai and Jingzhou , for example. Or, perhaps, the people are driven stark raving mad by their outrageously spicy food. But more on that in a moment...

"J" and I had dinner that night with the plant president and our driver/host, the plant manager (conversation in Chinese). They had never, evidently, dined with a Westerner or met more than one other couple of Westerners, in the case of the President. Had I photographed dinner, someone surely would have lost face, but how I wished I could have. It was straight out of someones dreams (and others nightmares) and much of it tasted delicious - particularly the spicy noodles, Peking duck and tofu soup with spicy dried bean curd. But of note, too, was the Foot of Goose - webbing and all - with its soupy, orange sauce. I tell you, if you haven't had a toe joint in your mouth, well... it's weird.

The president expressed his overwhelming joy at my eating abilities and talent for drinking Mao Tai - official Chinese liquor (the real brand, which is actually brewed there in Guiyang) to me via J. After all, I could hardly blow him away with stimulating conversation, as I sat in silence during the meal watching the giggling waitress call her friends in behind every ones' backs to stare at the Westerner, daydreaming about the conversation topics at the table, and figuring out how to eat goose toes without getting orange sauce on my cheeks. Nonetheless, the president felt sufficiently impressed by my ability to consume all things Chinese to compel him to say I was a "great international woman" and to invite me to "the Wild West of China to make..." here he rubbed his fingers together to indicate the international sign for $$$.

Bauxite anyone? That's what Guizhou's got to offer, among many other opportunities, goods, raw materials, tourist attractions, I have came to believe during my three nights there. Guiyang is a alive and producing but seems to boast much potential yet. (After all, sigh, the skies are still blue there...)

The next day we traveled out to one of the most beautiful and mystical places in the world. First we drove two hours out of the city, through countryside I could never have conceived of in my wildest imaginings. To access the waterfall, one must traverse a charming bonsai garden, bursting with life and flowers, its streams teeming with colorful fish. Then through a pathway, you come upon a natural bowl-shaped riverbed canyon and see one of the world largest waterfalls. Here you must begin the long, two hour long trek around the canyon to see one of all of the 6 angles from which it is possible to view this waterfall. The pilgrimage is long but the climax takes you behind the waterfall itself.

Of course, the government has marketed all of this to the max and it crawls with tourists. Signs that read "your soul will stir with the silence and beauty" become laughable as the only stirring I felt was to throw pushy tourists over the cliff's edge. Yet, the majestic beauty of the place still overwhelms the crowd. The imagination can still wander to times past when a lonely wanderer, like the Ming Dynasty wise-man who discovered the falls, might have stumbled upon these sights.

Have I mentioned how cheesy tourists here can be? No.. these old folks are not part of a show...

Lunch was a delicious and humble affair - my favorite. Very similar to the food of Jingzhou except this time we could pick out the pigeons the plucked and cooked for us. The smoked pork/tofu combo was to die for, I tell you - get thee to Guizhou for this dish. And the home-brewed rice wine delighted.

Now, no one let us in on this little secret, but there was more sightseeing to come! Our host just led us through some gates and mentioned something about a boat. A boat? Um, no one said any thing about a boat when I was being fed pigeon and pork and wine... A little van showed up and drove us straight up a vertical cliff (I swear). We got out, there were some guys playing cards (there are always guys playing cards...). But I was miffed - we were up on a mountain. Where was the water? The boat? Someone pointed DOWN a vertical cliff (hadn't we just come UP one?) to some stairs I was evidently supposed to descend.

Follow the leader...

At the bottom of the stairs, sure enough, was a large pool of water. A deep mountain lake, in fact. And boats sat lined up in a way that reminded me nervously of the Blue Grotto in Capri. "Where're we headed, boss? Did you know we were doing this?" "Um, no!" Came the response.

Well, my visions of the Blue Grotto weren't so off, it seems. We piled into a boat with a bunch of other Chinese tourists and headed across the 28 meter deep, cool mountain pool toward a narrow but tall crevice in the cliff-side ahead. Finally, someone felt like translating for me: that's a cavern.

It was, beyond words and imagining, the largest, most expansive cavern I never knew existed. 28 meters down from the water's surface and 138 meters high from the water's surface to the ceiling at the highest points. As we tunneled and rowed and ducked around, we saw all manner of stalactites and rock formations, which I was told were calcium rock of a sort. My mind ran to the Anne McCaffery books I obsessively read, which, if you are a fellow nerd, you will know, means that these caves were DRAGON sized. Huge. Enormous. No Blue Grotto.

As with most Chinese Adventure days, this one wouldn't end and, after encountering the last part of it, boy am I glad it didn't. The food in Guiyang, the hotpots, are even hotter than Jingzhou . We started with mutton on a stick; J, who is from near Beijing, almost couldn't handle those. Then the hotpot came, with river fish so fat and juicy and veggies (finally, broccoli!) and red spicy hot sauce. It was OUTRAGEOUS. But everyone was doing it! So I did it too! J could only eat a couple bites.. After his third can of tea to wash it down, he called it quits... Which is when something drew our attention

A family eating next to us with a particularly cute baby. He was seated on Daddy's lap and was enjoying a... super spicy mutton on a stick! He munched away like the mutton was a chew toy and sucking off all the spices, hot pepper juice spread across his cheeks and lips (he was maybe 9-months-old). SPICY BABY! But his existence begs the question, do mothers in Guizhou nurse their while swilling rice wine in between taking large bites of a chile peppers?

Guizhou is wild...

Pensive Post - Thoughts on China

There exists, perhaps, no account of "China" that is complete. No explorer, no writer, photographer travel-loguer, film maker, anthropologist, documentary maker, or sociologist can sum up this great country in terms broad or specific enough to create a picture that would fairly or rightly portray "The Middle Kingdom." Despite the pervasive image projected through the Chinese government's 1970's and '80s propaganda machine (that somehow still lives on in many Westerners' minds today), China is an outrageously diverse place - mind blowingly so - and, I dare say, always has been.

Let me offer a few points to ponder from my, albeit, limited travels in China (Shanghai, Hubei and Guizhou Provinces). The first idea I would proffer is that China is surprisingly comfortable culture-wise to Western and, in particular, American, visitors. Already, some friends have written me in response to my posts saying, "I never would have guessed China would be like that, I am fascinated..." and have said it is now on their top places to visit. Don't get me wrong, the hole-in-ground toilets, pervasive spitting, shoving, food (for some, no doubt), and other common elements to a developing country take some getting used to (especially if you are totally new to them). But the culture is, in a way, comfortable.

What do I mean by that? Well, the Chinese (that I have encountered) are totally and unassumingly individuals. Their bizarre and unique cellphone rings typify this, in a way (I have heard no repeats, yet). Whether they adhere to the culture norms of their ancestors, break custom, wear flashy colors and short shorts, spike their hair, bleach their hair, don the newest fashion (sparkles), dress like a baby doll, rock a military style, play the stay at home mom, cry at a love song (we're talking men here), shout at the top of their lungs in a cave to hear an echo, or decide to move to a city to pursue a new career and forsake their country life - everyone is marching to their own beat.Journalist James Fallows describes the Chinese as each doing their own thing until they "get caught," which is, also, a very Latin behavior and one that I am quite familiar with given my previous travels. And the individualism comes out in all kinds of ways. The implications of this culturally mean that we Americans feel a bit at home when we come to visit.. The implications of this economically mean that our American companies and entrepreneurs feel right at home when they come to stay.

This leads me to my second point. Since I am here for an internship I have had the pleasure of watching my Chinese friends work and learning from them. After a few short weeks here, I am convinced that great opportunities lie ahead for China and anyone willing to build stronger relationships here (on every level). Of course, I have met people who fit the description of the "non-creative" stereotype I have read about in books and articles - vertical thinkers, etc. The people who blow me away are those working on a shoe-string budget, factories that seemingly would produce nothing producing a stellar product, factories run like American or German factories in the hinterlands, or engineers trained in computer science who understand the whole linear and lateral workings of a dynamic, multi-layer, international corporation and their role in it. China maybe a "socialist market economy" but whatever is happening here is making things happen in a big way, beating the proverbial capitalist *butt* (so to speak, or at least getting there), as the bustling cities will testify.

The cities really, truly hum with activity. Everywhere you look, bikes zoom by, motos dangerously zigzag intersections, cars honk, pedestrians wander about, vendors peddle their wares. Everyone seems to be buying and selling. If there's an economic depression its obvious in the countrysides and present in peoples conversations - but not so in the streets of the cities. Construction is everywhere, too. When asked, people have said that only in the last year did much of the construction I see begin. Stimulus plan in action! Here's a kudos to the Chinese government for turning to a domestic need in a time when the global market slowed. If you know something about the Chinese economy, you know that dollars spent investing abroad have been dollars neglected on domestic spending (the Chinese need more roads, better roads, more bridges, etc. etc.), so this is a great and wonderful thing to see. But some will ask, who is the future for?
The one-child policy still maintains that Chinese families can only have one child (unless both parents are only children, one parent has a doctorate, or heavy fines are doled out, in which case the parents may have 2 children). It was implemented when population growth was out of control in the 1970's. But now it means that China's cities grow older, year by year. In the countryside, things are less regulated, but for cities, aging populations is a major problem. And the Chinese really do seem to want to have more kids. From speaking to my friends here, qualities I have noticed across the board are strong family values and a desire to have more children. I have heard "you are lucky in the States, that you can have such big families."

In addition to the widespread (it seems) Chinese emphasis on family and family values, another widespread phenomenon - one which is shared, in my opinion, with Italy, is a deep sense of identity with the cultural heritage of one's province, people and region's customs and food-type. This, to me, is one of the most important factors in China and makes the notion of a centrally controlled Middle Kingdom almost laughable. It also makes China a spectacular, mysterious, marvelous and intriguing place.

First of all, when you travel from place to place, people will proudly tell you why their city/province/region is important. They will tell you which of the 50+ minority groups live their. They will take you to eat the local food and hope, even if they are too polite to show they care, that you love it and will be ecstatic if you do -- telling you, maybe, that you have given them "big face." They might take you to the local tourist sights, which are frequented by hundreds of Chinese from all over the province (in my experience) who have come to learn more about their history. And the differences between the regions from North, South, East and West cannot be contained here in this tiny paragraph. The breadth and depth available for discovery lead one's imagination to wander and one's lust for discovery wild. It would be possible to spend a lifetime here and still find another magic stone with unimaginable treasures beneath it.

Lastly, I would like to point out that, from my personal experience here, I have noted that chivalry not dead. It is alive and well and in China. Women are served first. Women walk in a room first. I have been helped and assisted by men to the point of hitting my head and almost falling off a curb and inflicting other bodily harms to myself or others (one can get hurt if one isn't used to these sorts of niceties). But the manifestations of this chivalry can be quite something, too: Some stories about girlfriends go something like "well, I can't go to the river bank, that's where my first love broke my heart..."

My favorite, though, is watching men, dotted throughout a night club, break into passionate sing-along when the love songs come on. Eyes closed. Heads thrust back. Tears practically rolling down their cheeks. They are totally into every word. The girls, on the other hand, sway with slight smiles on their faces and enjoy the music. Chivalry, nor romance, my friends, is not dead in China.

And neither is the spirit of growth, learning and entrepreneurship. China marches on an interesting path. Building complexes called "Bright Future," and the like, testify to the vision many Chinese have, I think, for their country. There is a great wave rising from within this country (I don't think we have seen it yet) and the wise will ride it, in some way or another.

Plucking out your own lunch!

And boy were those suckers good...

Photo tour of weekend with Old Egg, Water Torture, Really Old Dead Guy, Drunk Baby

English: a hot commodity these days! And what Friday could be complete for an English-speaker in a foreign country with imparting a little wisdom in 40 minutes to over 8 classes packed with kids?

"I have 3 brothers..." THREE BROTHERS!!??!?!?!? "I have 15 cousins..." FIFTEEN COUSINS!!!??!?!?! "I like rock music too..." YOU DO??!!! "Sure, I like beef.." ME TOO! ME TOO!

Let me tell you, if I ever have to teach, I'll focus on rugrats. So easy to please. In fact, too easy to please. We had one near hyperventilation, pass-out case. But in the end. Great success.
Recommendation: when talking to Chinese kids, rivet with tales of copious siblings and cousins.

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Your friendly neighborhood All-Goat-Part-Restaurant bringing to you goat meat kebabs, goat jerky (as far as I could tell), goat soup with greens, goat ribs, fried goat cheese and probably other things if you have the stomach for it but I didn't see it...

Also to be enjoyed with tasty goat vittles: roast beef in gravy, mushrooms, and lotus seeds (great for taking the edge off of spicy foods).

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You've heard about it - perhaps horror stories. Maybe you've even seen it. Well now I have not only done that but I've chewed, swallowed and held it down. Yes, that's the 1000-year-old egg, folks (in photo, served Jingzhou style, with tofu and super hot pepper). First of all, it's only 40 days old, or so. And it's a duck egg. Big deal. They wrap it in clay, or something. And then they treat it. It looks a LOT grosser than it tastes, really. Mostly it just tastes super sulfer-y. Recommendation: avoid it, as a rule, but if offered, do try it (some people do like it), just for the "ick, wow, I've done it" factor.
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When it gets hot out here - and it gets HOT - men just don't wear their shirts (see blurry spy-shot at restaurant). Even men wearing business pants and dress shoes will tuck their shirts up to their nipples or just take them off and throw them over their shoulder (note: this is not all but a good many). At first it seems curious. And then you sit through a meal in what feels like 114 degree heat and it makes so much sense. Recommendation: pack light for southern Chinese summers.

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More on food. Jingzhou, a crossroads city, is known for its food, has lots of restaurants and many different types of things to eat - most of them delicious. I know something about cities like this, having recently lived in the Italian equivalent: Bologna.

I seem to have made the right friends here because they have taken me to every good place to eat you can imagine. But I won't bore you will the details. Suffice to say, I have had some smoking hot jellyfish cooked to a tender perfection and surprisingly scrumptious (trust me), some delectable crayfish, spicy enough to take your mouth and good enough to shame maybe even the Louisiana Creoles, some kickin' steak that might challenge even the Kansans and Texans I've dined with at their grilling and blackening skills, and some of the most delicious pork and (fresh) rice noodle soup that probably exists on this earth. The homemade microbrew to go along with the soup wasn't bad either.

The presentation of the food here (cucumbers carved into dragons, even on fruit plates at bars!), even when you aren't at a 4 or 5 star hotel, is awesome. It makes me feel (and perhaps I'm a total geek) a bit like I'm in a science fiction fantasy novel or movie. But I think that the food gets tastier and more fun (and edible) the less expensive it is. So. Recommendation: if you are an honored guest, find a way for your hosts to be convinced that you would actually REALLY enjoy eating local and then DO take their recommendations.

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Sightseeing. Always an adventure (in part because constant construction here creates fun obstacles and in part because the westerner often becomes the object of interest and because sometimes the visit will be interactive). At CheXi on Saturday, I learned all about one of Chinas 50+ minority tribes, heard some of the guys there yodel (yes.. yodel) and watched them dance, and learned about bamboo paper making using paper mills. I also got to try it. Is this what they mean by Chinese water torture? Recommendation: that the heavens you were born today and not 100+ years ago as a servant in CheXi who had to mill paper or grind gun powder.

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What Sunday would be complete without more massages and food? But first, I saw a 2,100-year-old corpse. Yes, that's right. And we're not talking mummies, here. He's got flesh and guts and a brain with mass, eye-balls and everything else - even limber limbs. This guy was found buried 10 meters down in the old walled Jingzhou city (maybe he was governor or something) with all his funeral regalia. Now they've got him on display in the museum in a pressurized chamber, floating in a vat of formaldehyde. Everything on display. Everything. Except for the sunken eyes and pasty flesh, he could have died 10 days ago. If it weren't so awesome it would be revolting.

At dinner I witnessed another Chinese anomaly: Drunk baby. My friend Irene and I went to a great little restaurant to eat and were just hunkering down to enjoy our bowls of soup when a one-year-old staggered, as one-year-olds are wont to do, past us calling for his "mama!" We looked up to see him parents attentively watching him, while finishing their meal. So Irene said to them, in a friendly way, something like "your baby's calling for you." And the mother said, "oh no, he's fine, just a little drunk. "What?" Irene said between translating for me, "Drunk?"

At this point I am examining the baby more closely and sure enough, his staggering is far more pronounced than it otherwise might be and his shouts for his mother (and now his grandmother, who is not, I should point, anywhere in the vicinity) are far more brutish than a one-year-old's ought to be. He's cheeks are also flushed.

The mother explains to Irene that, well, her baby likes a little beer now and again and so she obliges. The baby is still staggering around demanding his mother. The parents collect their son and put him back at the table where he sits unhappily for a few minutes before getting up to make the rounds again. Irene and I look at each other. Drunk baby.

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Lesson of the weekend: "Learning about other cultures makes your heart bigger" and maybe a little stranger.

teaching torture with tolerant teach-zilla.. happy ending!

When I sat down at my desk on Wednesday morning I heard my office mate, Frank, speaking on the phone, " *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* Portia *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words* *Chinese Words*." (((Click))) "Frank," I said, "One day, sooner than you might guess, you'll do that and I'll be able to figure out what you're saying about me..." "Oh," he replied, "don't worry. It was only good things." ***long pause for dramatic effect followed by devilish grin*** "you think..." ***my smile turns to quizzical look*** "So... uhhh... what are you planning?"

Wednesday could have been a relaxing day, hang out with the Quality Control Department, learn a little, take care of some personal stuff, etc. etc. go back to the hotel, catch up on emails, sleep. But my lovely new friend had something else in mind for me. Apparently the COO of this company (the vice-Leader?) has a buddy who runs an English school and they got to talking (as the Chinese, I am learning, inevitably do) and my name came up. And well, they thought it would be a great idea for me to go and speak to the kids at the school in English about my travels.

Great. Some people are afraid of spiders, maybe some of heights, or getting quarantined by foreign communist governments. Me? I'm terrified of speaking in teaching environments to high school-aged kids. Maybe I was traumatized for life by my experience in Haiti when one of my monstrous 21-year-old eighth graders called me a racist for kicking those students out who didn't bring books to class (90% of the class). Or maybe it is the fact that I am aware that I am simply not very good at teaching and so avoid such environments... either way.............. GULP.

Frank says, "no problem, it will be easy. You just have to talk for like an hour." "An HOUR!?" "Well, maybe a half hour. Then they'll ask questions. Then we'll have dinner! Easy."

Ok, they're bribing me with food again, I'm a sucker. I'm in.

In the afternoon I'm dragged, knees almost knocking, to the school building where the tragedy that will be my first public speaking appearance in China will occur. Everyone is very nice. Jimmy, the head of the school welcomes me to his office with tea. Above his desk is a large, maybe 20x25 inch photograph of Jimmy in front of the Statue of Liberty under which is written in massive Chinese and English letters "Jimmy in America!" God, I do love the Chinese.

Very soon, too soon, I am ushered into the classroom. My heart sinks to see a teacher in the corner who looks in every way like the caricature of the anal retentive, humorless librarian-type school teacher. I pray she will disappoint.

Jimmy: "Class, this is our foreign speaker, American visitor, PORTIA!"
***followed by a barrage of compliments I won't repeat***
Class: ***mumbles hello***
Jimmy: "Say hello class!"
Class: "Hello"
***halfhearted***
me: "Hello everyone, very nice to meet you!"

I sit next to the teacher and, squaring my shoulders, I open my speech with some Chinese.. a little ice-breaker, if you will (a recommendation of a friend who is very good indeed with kids and things of these sort). The IDEA is perhaps if I look like an ass first, maybe kids won't mind so much looking like asses too when they are inevitably forced to say something to me in English by humorless teacher!

me (in Chinese): "Hello! Excuse me, I would like to ask, can you speak English? I speak a little Chinese, but badly."
***silence***
Teach-zilla: "Maybe you could speak to them in ENGLISH. They want to hear you speak English."
me: "Ahem. Well... I have now said almost EVERYTHING I know in Chinese, and I guess you all speak English very well! So let me tell you a little about who I am and why I am here in China...."

***30 rather painful but maybe successful minutes later***

Teach-zilla: "That was very interesting, wasn't it class?"
Jimmy: "Everyone needs to ask questions! Let's go around the room!"
Teach-zilla: "Yes, do you all have questions for our native American guest?" (she refers to me as the "native American guest" and not by name for the rest of the time)
***points finger at the first slump-shouldered victim***

In the course of over an hour, children of varying levels of Chinese were forced against their will to interact with me. And I, against my will, to interact with them. When the dialogue would falter, Teach-zilla would turn to me and say things like "You need to ask them questions, Chinese children won't just talk to you." And when I would try to come up with questions to ask about, say, hobbies or activities, and they wouldn't reply she would say things like "Chinese children study all the time," and look very smug, indeed.

Nonetheless and despite Teach-zilla's desperate attempts to make me look and feel as small as a mushroom, I got some awesome questions and thoughts:
one kid asked: "So, you study the economy. Why are some countries so rich and some countries so poor?"
me: "well.. that's a great question, I took a whole course that tried to answer that question and no one agreed in the end..."

***10 minute summary on course, including my opinions why***
Teach-zilla: "Well, China, you know has a socialist market economy
***long quizzical pause on my part... mmmKay, moving on...***

one asked: "do you like computer games? "one said: "i used to be a professional ping pong player, but my parents said i wasn't good so i stopped."
***moment of silence***

one kid said: "Hello, please let me introduce myself, my name is Jack. J-A-C-K. Jack. I have many hobbies, I like football and basketball and playing computer games. I am studying English and Japanese too. Thank you very much for coming in to talk to us."

one kid gave me the 2,000 year history of Jingzhou in 3 minutes.
Most of them hid behind there hands and turned bright red before saying a few things.

Jack (back for more) asked: "I want to know how you learned so many languages"
me: "well, I think the trick is you have to think like a little kid and not worry about making mistakes. Just talk and practice and not worry about what people think of you (colorful example provided of me making an ass of myself in Italy)."
Teach-zilla (in for the coup de grace): "Well, the Chinese can be a VERY intolerant people. But I am very tolerant. I do not mind if you all make mistakes, do I children?"
***silence. awkward. swallowing. coughing.***

After the Chinese hour-long (read: 1 clock hour = 2 Chinese hours) teaching (torture) session, Jimmy took six kids, Frank and myself to dinner. We had typical Jingzhou food -- fish and rice and hot pots of meat and chicken and some other things. There was a chicken foot sticking out of the chicken hot pot. Mmmmm. At dinner, lessons continued, I learned how to say "boyfriend, girlfriend, I'm full, corn juice, I'm hungry," and an assortment of random phrases in Chinese.

Part way through the meal, a plate came around with fried round things in in it. "Happy Balls!" One kid exclaimed. Excuse me? "They're called 'happy balls,'" Frank explained, "friend sweet potato." Oh goody, I thought. Sounds delicious. As I reached in, everyone watched eagerly, eyes focused on my every move. "Uh. what gives?" I asked. "They are watching you use your chopsticks," Jimmy replied. "Ooooo," I looked at my closest neighbor, "You think I can't pick up happy balls with my chopsticks?" He nodded vigorously. "Oh you just wait, I won't drop a thing." And I deftly maneuvered my chopsticks, clamped down perfectly on one happy ball and popped it into my mouth. The kids were gleeful. As was I. Fried sweet potato is delicious.

Lesson of the day: Kids say the darndest things. And I still suck at teaching..